345 Quotes by J.M. Darhower

Besides, there‘s a reason we don‘t know how the story ends.""Why?""Because it doesn‘t

I’m surprised she hasn’t started cursing yet from hearing me.”“Oh, but she has,” Vincent said. “I overheard her.”Carmine turned to Haven. “What did you say?”She didn’t respond, and he sighed. “Come on, you can say it. Was it fuck? Because I say fuck a lot. Motherfucker? Shit? Asshole?”“I think that’s plenty,” Vincent said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The word doesn’t matter, but if you insist on knowing, she said ‘damn’.”"Oh, just damn? Not even goddamn?

It's fascinating. Did you know that Moanin' Lisa failed Home Ec last year? It proves the point, bro. You can't turn a hoe into a housewife.

He asked if I was happy with you. Nothing of importance.” He groaned after the words rolled from his lips. “Not saying that’s not important, or that you aren’t important, because you are. I’m just saying it’s not a big deal or whatever. Well, I mean, it is a big deal, but—”Haven covered his mouth with her hand to shut him up. “I get it, Carmine. I love you too.

Whatever, I know how to treat a girl," he said defensively as he glanced at Haven for confirmation, clearly not believing his own words. She nodded reassuringly, and he smiled. "See?

Would you be willing to take a lie detector test?""I’m afraid not," he said. "It goes against my religion."His brow furrowed. "How?""Only God can judge me...

I don't want just bits and pieces of you that I can steal away. I told you—you're worth more than being someone's secret.""Yeah, well, it's not really a secret anymore," she declared."I know it isn't."She groaned. "Then what, Corrado? What do you want?"His strong hands cupped both of her cheeks as he leaned down toward her. He stared into her eyes, drinking in the devotion she—for some godforsaken reason—felt toward him. "I'm a greedy man, Celia. I want everything.

Please," she pleaded again, hands roaming his back, nails scraping his skin. "More." He pushed into her slowly, sinking every inch of himself inside again. "Like that?" "Harder," she demanded. "Fuck me, Corrado.

The sensation of being inside of her, their bodies connected, sent a chill down Corrado's spine that rivaled only the thrill he got from hearing her whimper and moan. He did that. He caused that. His hands—hands that roamed her flushed skin, hands that cupped her warm cheeks as he kissed her deeply—didn't just cause pain. Those hands didn't just brutalize. They were capable of pleasure, too, pleasure reserved for her.